


The Saltwater Room

by CupidStrikes



Category: Tales of the Abyss
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-03
Updated: 2011-11-03
Packaged: 2017-10-25 16:15:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/272237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CupidStrikes/pseuds/CupidStrikes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He sounds so broken, and so hopeless, and something inside Peony aches with it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Saltwater Room

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lynndyre](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lynndyre/gifts).



_When you and I are alone, I've never felt so at home  
What will it take to make or break this hint of love?_

 _  
_

Aslan is stood on one of the palace’s many balconies when Peony finds him. Although he must have heard his approach, the soldier says nothing and continues to study the waterfalls intently. His cheeks are faintly red, scrubbed raw, and his eyes still look watery. Peony hesitates, then comes to stand next to him. He can feel the faint heat from Aslan’s body and his fingers itch for touch, to comfort him properly, but he refrains. Just. For now.

“She turned me down,” Aslan’s voice is little above a whisper, and Peony doesn’t miss the way his hand curls in a fist. He’s not angry, Peony knows, just upset, and confused, and hurt. He can’t bear to see anyone this way, especially not those close to him,

“She’s a fool, Frings,” he holds formality, barely, “…Such a fool,” his hand curls around Aslan’s wrist, and he feels his pulse beneath his fingers strong, and sure. The smaller man looks up at him, trembling faintly and looking desperate. He searches Peony’s face for something. Answers, anything…

“ _Why_?” He sounds so broken, and so hopeless, and something inside Peony aches with it. He shakes his head in reply, not knowing what he could say to begin to try and heal the gaping wound Jozette Cecil has torn in his friend. Instead, he wraps his arms tightly around him in one fluid movement, his fingers swiping over the stiff material of his uniform as he rubs his back. Aslan shudders, tense for a moment before he melts against Peony, tucking his head against his collarbone. His pale hair is soft against Peony’s skin, and his buries his fingers in it, trying to hold him steady as the storm inside him comes to a head.

Peony closes his eyes and concentrates solely on the warm figure clutching his shirt, pretends he doesn’t feel the little drips hitting his skin, and murmurs soothing nothings in Aslan’s ear. When he’s healed Peony will show Aslan just how much he is worth.

Aslan won’t protest.


End file.
